


Incandescence

by binds



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: M/M, Multi, Shion copes with his losses as best he can, a layered reunion fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-08-11 23:05:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7911073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binds/pseuds/binds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shion is drawn to sharp things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Four years after the fall of No. 6, Shion finds he cannot ignore an empty, intermittent sort of thrumming at the base of his neck. One night as he is looking over a fresh stack of construction proposals, he absentmindedly picks at the rough scar and thinks of deft hands that had skillfully cut there before. He thinks detachedly about the severing of nerves, of a shiny paring knife lying in his kitchen drawer, and startles when he leaves red smudges on a page.

 

The feeling, as though sensing his desire to be rid of it, only persists.

Once after a quiet dinner, Karan startles him as he’s washing the dishes by gently taking his hand into hers.

 

“I know,” Karan says, then stops herself, considerate.

 

“I know you miss him, and that’s normal.”

 

Shion stares, and for a long moment doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Hardly anyone ever brings up Nezumi to him—as months turned into years (Shion stopped his hopeful countdown long ago) he seems to have become a taboo subject for everyone. He smiles warmly.

 

He can’t really remember his face anymore.

 

“Mom,” he clasps his mother’s hand back. 

 

“I’m _fine_.”

 

That night, his heart thuds in his chest painfully when he recalls hands gripping his arm roughly, pulling him forward as he breaks clumsily into a run. He takes three more sleeping pills than usual.

 

* * *

Shion attends meetings in a new City Hall building, a crumbling old home without any of the sleek modern touches that tend to make most people sick with remembrance. He argues with bureaucrats, although he supposes he is one now, too, and reads between the lines of paperwork carefully.

 

He becomes very good at his job—so young, and so devoted to this new city, people say. There are no official titles in the new leadership, a sort of hushed anxiety still surrounding the concept of a government. It is still budding, unstable and volatile, and Shion does his best to keep it from falling apart. 

 

He lets his hair grow out, mainly to cover the mess he makes of his scar almost daily. Cleaning and redressing the spot at the back of his neck becomes a soothing ritual. At meetings, he puts his hair up and thinks nothing of it—the only people who would take note of the eternally present bandage are not there. 

 

Shion hardly looks at himself in the mirror, and chooses not to dwell on the way people look at him sometimes at mandatory dinners and bar mingling, opting to observe and avoid eye contact. Any ability he may have possessed to read a person’s intentions is lost to him now.

 

While flipping through botany books, he dozes off thinking of worn sheets and a solid body pressed to his, of sharp gray eyes and sharper words, of cool metal in his hands. His mind conjures images of Safu’s drained, still body that she had not permitted him to look at, had begged him not to, and he wakes up gasping, throat on fire.

 

When he is allowed to be alone with his thoughts, he feels a mounting panic overtake his limbs as he realizes he can’t remember what he was before, who he is supposed to be now. Once, a boy he had killed for had begged him never to change.

 

The stinging openness on the back of his neck is the only thing that grounds him in these moments.

 

* * *

 

Inukashi visits him occasionally, and always with little Shionn in tow, whose laughter fills Shion’s blank, palatial apartment. They soon took root in Karan’s home after Shion moved out, their beloved dogs seemingly never further than an arm’s reach.

 

Inukashi is no longer a wiry, angry child. They are only a few inches shorter than Shion now, frame no longer malnourished and tiny. Parenthood softens them, and he can’t help but smile when they attempt to scold Shionn as he tries to tug on their long, dark hair at the dinner table.

 

Shion’s changed too; taller, shoulders broader and face thinner, red scar as raw as the morning he woke with it. He doesn’t dare touch it anymore, save for clawing at it when the throbbing from within his neck seems extraordinarily relentless. He still thinks himself strange-looking, a serpent— a repurposed comparison that refuses to fade from his mind.

 

He has to swallow his surprise when Inukashi kisses him one day.

 

They visit him alone with a tin of his mother’s cherry cake one evening after work, customarily grumbling about the emptiness of the apartment as they step inside. They insist on staying to make sure Shion actually eats said cake, because, as they said, he was really starting to look like a bag of bones these days. 

 

They both sit together on his hard leather sofa, little white plates and forks in hand, speaking in soft voices about Shionn, Karan, and the dogs. They speak of Inukashi’s growing skill as a baker under Karan’s tutelage, and even of Rikiga, who has properly married a displaced aristocrat and supposedly given up on the drink.

 

“But we all know he still has the hots for your mom,” Inukashi says with a characteristic smirk, and bursts into a fit of familiarly mean-spirited laughter.

 

Shion can feel his mouth effortlessly stretch into a smile more than a few times, a rare feeling. He looks forward to their talks, of being present, close with someone even as he feels he is on autopilot most moments.

 

At some point, they both settle into a comfortable silence. Inukashi, their head resting on his shoulder (a habit adopted so long ago, in such a different context), turns to face him. Their dark eyes are fixed on him, mouth parting, and then they lean in. Shion feels warm pressure on his lips. He is motionless at first, not quite understanding, and then he reciprocates. 

 

They stay together like that for a while, entangled on his uncomfortable furniture.

 

“I,” Shion says breathlessly, and Inukashi looks heavily self-conscious.

 

* * *

 

Shion does not try to peel back layers of meaning. He knows he has always loved Inukashi, in some way, and he likes the weight of their warmth with him. Inukashi still prods him, lightly teases him for his air headed tendencies. They fall into an easy companionship which no one dares question or pry into, least of all Karan. 

 

Shion finds that these touches and feelings are both achingly familiar and new.

 

One evening, as they laze on Shion’s obscenely sized (Inukashi insists) bed, they gather Sion’s hair in their hands and their fingers lightly brush over the bandage.

 

“This?” They ask, eyebrows raised. 

 

“It,” Shion smiles weakly, “bothers me sometimes.”

 

* * *

 

 

When he comes, it is early Sunday morning, warm and bright, and Shion wipes his bleary eyes as he half-stumbles to the front door expecting anything but. 

 

He is taller, and his hair is short, and it takes a long moment for Shion to recognize him.

 

“Shion,” He says, and looks at him steadily with a sort of open, hopeful look on his face that Shion thinks he recognizes. But never on him.

 

He panics and slams the door in his face, stares at the door like it will cave in.


	2. Chapter 2

“Shion,” Inukashi’s hand is warm on the side of his neck. He is seated at his marble kitchen table, Inukashi—brow knit— kneeling on his left. 

 

Awakened by the loud noise, they had rushed to the foyer to find him visibly upset, his back to the front door, and gingerly guided him to sit.

 

Now Shion is staring at a potted mint plant next to the sink, allowing himself to feel nothing. They’ve both been at this a while now, Inukashi anxiously watching for a seizure or panic or heart attack and Shion emptily staring.

 

Inukashi cups his face in their hands and forces him to look at them.

 

“You’re scaring me,” they say softly, uncharacteristically, and something in Shion shudders and breaks.

 

Soon he’s clinging to Inukashi, ruining their pretty vermillion shift dress with tears and snot. They hold him as he hyperventilates, and then as his breathing steadies.

 

“I,” he tries to say, and hiccoughs into a chunk of soft jet black hair instead.

 

Inukashi only rubs circles into his back and murmurs “that motherfucker”, a steady mantra.

 

* * *

 

Karan cradles the mug of hot chocolate in her hand, sets it down gently in front of the boy sitting in her worn bakery.

 

No longer a boy, she amends, taking in his wider shoulders and strong jaw.

 

She thinks it’s a blessing that her hands didn’t shake as she mixed the milk in, wondered why she was the one who felt this anxious at the sight of him.

 

“Well,” she begins, can’t remember for a moment if she’s offered him a pastry yet. “You saw Shion?”

 

Nezumi’s sharp eyes flicker to her. He had shown up at her front door looking a bit disoriented. 

 

“Maybe for two seconds, and he slammed the door in my face,” He says, amusement coloring his voice and a nostalgic half-smile. As abruptly as it bloomed on his face, it’s gone, his head bowing a little.

 

Karan leans back and sighs, wipes her hands on her apron, and for a blessed moment looks at the small stain she’s never been able to get out of the ceiling.

 

“He’s, well. Shion’s been different,” she says cautiously. “for some time now.”

 

She thinks she shouldn't, but. "People change, Nezumi."

 

He peers up at her, then looks out the window. She wants to reach out to him, to put a gentle hand on his shoulder, to smack him for ruining her boy, she doesn’t know.

 

“Of course, I never… I didn’t expect him to be the same,” he half-breathes, sighs as his right hand reaches up to smooth out his dark hair. Something in Karan’s chest stings.

 

“Why did you come back?” she asks, the question seems halting and loud, clumsy—the way she feels toward this man who saved Shion then killed him; who at seventeen sat beside her son like a guardian angel and ate cherry cake, who left the next day and never came back.

 

Shion hadn’t said much when he came home that day, had looked a bit lost.

 

He tenses, and then meets her gaze.

 

“The farther I went, the harder it was to come back.”

 

Karan immediately thinks of her husband, his obsession with discovery and acknowledgment, thinks maybe that was his real reason too. 

 

She wonders if this means Shion will be okay now, but knows she has to halt the hope bubbling up in her chest.

 

She gets up, dusts off her apron, and realizes midway that she’s already done that.

 

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need. There are fresh linens in the closet.” She offers, and heads to the back of the kitchen to collect herself.

 

* * *

“You don’t have to,” Inukashi realizes it sounds like they’re pleading. Shion looks up dully, eyes swollen, pale hair mussed.

 

They are already familiar with his strange episodes— long, stretching silences and halfhearted answers, often downright unresponsiveness. Inukashi had become almost proficient at not blaming the rat for these little things.

 

They’re not so good at stopping one particular train of thought, when they begin to think Shion was never like this before. A long time ago, they had fallen in love with his easygoing love and brightness and warmth. His very presence had promised safety and reassurance.

 

Inukashi holds him, and kisses him now all the same, and yet—

 

_Before._ Like some great disaster had struck, had torn away a chunk of himself. 

 

Sometimes, as they eye his ever-present bandage and carelessly attained bruises, Inukashi thinks that’s exactly what Shion wants.

 

It’s unspoken, Shion’s tendency toward danger. But Inukashi has always watched, always made sure nothing escalated.

 

The two of them have been sitting on the bed for hours, processing the situation mostly in silence.

 

“He’s at my mom’s, right?” Shion says abruptly, gets up and walks into the bathroom to wash his face. He marvels at how light his body feels, and tries to will it away. His hands keep instinctively going to the bandage on the nape of his neck— it’s much easier to repress when he knows Inukashi is watching.

 

He stares at himself for a moment, tries to remember how he looked when he was sixteen. 

 

Nezumi is here, he thinks. He knows Nezumi had most likely been following and watching silently, though for how long he couldn’t even guess. 

 

He splashes ice cold water on his face.

 

“I think I have to,” He says, looking at Inukashi like a child yearning for his mother’s approval.

 

Inukashi wants to grab Shion’s wrist and make him forget the morning, wants to kiss away Nezumi from Shion’s mouth and very being. Instead, they make a noise of confirmation and offer him a towel to dry off. 

 

“I’ll make you something before you go.”

 

* * *

 

Shion walks toward his mother’s house numbly, something like anxiety trying to burst out of his chest. The bell on the door twinkles his arrival when he steps inside.

 

Karan is behind the counter and looks at him wearily. Shion thinks that she only has that look on her face when he’s around, thanks whatever higher power for Shionn’s presence in her life.

 

She nods toward the staircase. 

 

“Shionn’s asleep in my room.” she warns. 

 

Before he can approach the stairs, she grabs his shoulder.

 

Then softly, almost unheard: “Be gentle, please. Be kind.”

 

Shion is surprised at the quick wave of anger he feels warming his face. He rips his shoulder from her grip and begins the ascent.

 

Karan watches him go, prays with all she is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. Also, my Inukashi is cafab & nonbinary (as they are in canon).


	3. Chapter 3

Despite the anxious churning of his guts, sleep pulls at Nezumi as soon as he sits on the worn mattress in Shion’s old room. He feels himself dozing off facing the open window, the breeze lightly touching his face, lulling him.

 

He thinks of Shion as he had been. The look of horror on his face as he examined his new coloring and scar, the way he had nuzzled into Nezumi’s impulsive touches, how still his body had felt as he held him and wished to die too (sang him goodbye instead.)

 

Nezumi knows he hasn’t had a home since he gained the mass of scar tissue on his lower back, and then again when he left Shion with a paltry kiss and a promise. But the look on Shion’s face earlier that day had somehow not quelled his lingering hope.

 

He thinks maybe the years have softened him. He knows now that when he had left, a part of him did not want to follow through on his promise of reunion, to come back to this damned city that killed everything it touched.

 

Still. Shion had looked thin, worn and tired when he had opened his front door, and there was something foreign about him.

 

Nezumi has been toying with Karan’s words for the last few hours. It feels unfair. He had left Shion to rebuild a new city and life, to give him a chance to forget and move on and live, to find a purpose that didn’t involve him or the idea of Safu. At least, he thinks that had been his intention.

 

Maybe he had really left him to be swallowed by No. 6. Nezumi is too far removed from himself at seventeen to be sure.

 

But God, his feet ache, and he’s ready to be home.

 

* * *

 

It’s late afternoon and the sun is filtering in harshly. Shion watches the way its light reflects off the man currently in his childhood bed— his dark, short hair and fair skin— and feels like he might throw up. Nezumi is not facing him, his body turned to the window, completely relaxed. Shion envies him.

 

He stands, unsure, arms at his side. His mind is carefully empty now, his visions and daydreams of reunion (eventually abandoned) had stolen too many moments, hours, years of his time. He is sure he has no expectations, had ensured it long ago.

 

Nezumi stirs, sluggishly turning to the doorway. The action looks too familiar, and Shion feels his heartbeat in his throat, self-consciously pushes away a stray lock of hair that had fallen into his face.

 

Nezumi is not a graceful sleeper, he thinks as he remembers how frequently the man would wake already glaring, pissed at the world for being woken up. He usually looked ridiculous, long hair mussed and stuck to his downturned mouth.

 

Shion wishes he could erase these images, fragments of memories, not for the first time.

 

Nezumi’s eyes are narrowed with sleep, then he blinks and sits up, meeting Shion’s eyes. He regards him, and lets out a small, startled huff of breath.

 

 _Oh_ , Shion thinks too.

 

There is a still gap of time where they take each other in. Nezumi is rumpled a bit with sleep, and he looks warm, inviting even.

 

Shion tries not to feel even sicker at the silence or the way Nezumi looks at him or the elegant curve of his neck—

 

“Shion.”

 

He wants to disappear at the way his name rolls off Nezumi’s tongue so casually, like it belongs there. It did, he thinks.

 

He feels the prickling sensation in the nape of his neck starting up. He lets his fingers rest lightly on the bandage, thinks that is enough for now.

 

“This,” Shion says sharply, interrupting. “This is what, exactly?”

 

 _Are you giving me a real fucking ending?_ He wills into the words, doesn’t know if he hopes or despairs at the thought, or if his message will even be received.

 

Nezumi doesn’t furrow his brow, doesn’t show anything but a serene look on his face, any evidence of surprise now gone. Shion represses a small, distressed choking noise that has been building in his throat since that morning.

 

The thought of Nezumi finding peace or love or whateverthefuck during his travels and coming here to fulfill his only promise to Shion, with the sole purpose of finally being rid of him—it seems a bit funny in its own way. He reminds himself that the only time he hasn’t been a burden in his life is when he went to save Safu. And even then, he had failed. 

 

“Why are you here?” He clarifies, keeping his words even. He acknowledges his urge to hurt Nezumi, to get away with as much as he can.

 

Nezumi stands up, because Shion is looking at him with steel in his eyes and he’s reminded of the time they punched each other in the face, all bloody mouths and bruised egos, and Shion might have made a similar expression then.

 

“I want—“ Nezumi moves to reach out to him, to embrace him maybe, and Shion doesn’t mean to but he flinches. Shion thinks a part of him is withering, another is buzzing with self-righteous joy; didn’t take the bait. He crosses his arms tightly and looks away.

 

“Inukashi,” Shion says quietly. “They and I, we’re together.”

 

He didn’t mean to tell him, wants to take the confession back. It’s not his business anyway.

 

Nezumi doesn’t look surprised, stubbornly remains calm. Or really doesn’t care, of course he doesn’t, why would he?

 

“Your mama didn’t say, but it’s obvious only her and the kid live here now.” He shrugs noncommittally, almost familiarly. “I figured it was something like that.”

 

Shion scoffs. “And still, you chose to be here? To go to my house?” 

 

Nezumi looks at the scar on Shion’s throat, thinks about tracing it with his fingertips to remember this is really him. In a moment of selfishness he steps forward again, bridges the gap, and this time Shion offers no resistance.

 

“What's done, is done.” he murmurs, and takes Shion’s face in his hands in that same easygoing way he would before, thumb over his jawline.

 

He knew that nothing would be as easy as holding his hand or coaxing him into bed, but he wants to memorize the differences in him, sharply misses his ability to touch Shion freely. 

 

He realizes belatedly that Shion is staring vacantly through him, not quite looking at anything. He is slack, where just a few moments prior his body was strained and knotted. He's holding Shion now, familiarly. The memories this situation evokes are not nice ones.

 

Nezumi feels a kind of slow, cold panic seep over him, thinks he probably took Karan’s words too lightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooh my god i'm so sorry this is like 2 months late. time is a trap & this chapter was so hard to write!


	4. Chapter 4

Shion often dreams of Safu.

 

Sometimes, they are both eleven years old and seated in Safu’s grandmother’s living room as they read together. Grandma comes to check in on them periodically, brings them honeyed tea with a loving smile. 

 

Other times they are sixteen again, and Safu proposes to Shion, and this time instead of sputtered avoidances he says “yes” hurriedly, says it like everything depends on it. (It does.)

 

They clasp hands like they did as small children, and Shion can only feel an overwhelming sense of relief, wakes with the sense that he’s regained something eternally lost. And then, the emptiness hits him. And then, he goes about his day.

 

Now, Safu is before him, and she is alive and whole.

 

They are both in a field of green, and her arms are open to him, an invitation to embrace. She is bright, seems to be emanating the warmth and light in this realm. She looks the way she did when she was bursting with some tidbit of knowledge, unable to hold back an interesting fact about the functions of the hippocampus or her opinions on the physiological impact of cognitive-behavioral therapy. 

 

There is a violet aster in her hair, Shion realizes.

 

Her lips are moving, and to Shion’s growing apprehension, the more he strains to hear her the more deafening and all-encompassing the silence becomes. He yearns to know what she’s trying to tell him, and then he is reaching for her, but she seems to rescind without actually moving. Shion is now panicking, both arms outstretched in a desperate bid, and the growing sense of horror painting over everything. She’s moving farther and farther away.

 

_Don’t go_ , Shion cries, and although he feels his vocal chords working, he still hears nothing. 

 

Now Safu looks apologetic, but she’s still speaking, still trying to tell him something, he won’t stop screaming until he can hear — 

 

Shion wakes with a start, feels the last of a scream tear itself from his throat, and then a pain in his arm. And then nothing. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Inukashi is seated on Shion’s childhood bed, Shion curled up in a peaceful, drug-induced sleep,

 

“Will it stop the dreaming?” They had asked Rikiga one day ago in front of the bakery, needle and pack in hand.

 

He had sighed, looked toward the second story of the building. “The kid will be completely blacked out. Give me a call when he wakes up, will you?” Inukashi had given a quick nod of affirmation, then thrown themselves back into the fray.

 

The old man may have become newly reformed, but he still had his black market connections and somehow, access to pharmaceutical drugs. Inukashi never asked why, only knew it was either this or nothing. Shion barely conceded to annual physicals with a general practitioner, and outright refused to step foot in hospitals for anything not relating to his work.

 

They look down at his sleeping face, pull the layers of worn blankets further over his shoulders. They think Shion’s too small already, but he looks even smaller like this. Despite Inukashi’s efforts to keep him as well-fed as possible, he forgets his meals too often. Gotta keep a better eye on that, they think vaguely.

 

“How long?” 

 

Inukashi whips their head around at the intrusion, throws a glare at the rat for startling them.

 

“None of yo—“

 

“Not that,” Nezumi amends. He gestures toward Shion. “This.”

 

Inukashi could kill him. But truthfully, they’re too drained to be openly spiteful. 

 

When they had received a call from Karan, voice stern but shaking, they had rushed over as quickly as their legs could take them. They had _known_ , had known in their gut this was a terrible idea.

 

It wasn’t like anything Inukashi had seen before. 

 

At some point, Nezumi had laid out Shion’s limp body on the bed, when he had suddenly seized up and started thrashing violently, screaming strings of unintelligible sentences. Inukashi could’ve sworn they had heard him call Safu’s name, but elected to keep that to themselves. 

 

Karan, blinking away tears, had already called Rikiga before Inukashi, and the man had arrived with the promised medication within fifteen minutes. 

 

Inukashi gingerly administered it, needle pressing into Shion’s pale arm as Nezumi held him down. Karan had then gone to tend to little Shionn, who had awoken frightened and confused in her bedroom.

 

Since then, Shion has been sleeping deeply, unmoving; the episode itself had lasted a little less than thirty minutes.

 

“A few years, I guess.” Inukashi turns to face Nezumi directly, meets his eyes and can’t read any emotion there. 

 

“It wasn’t immediate—he was a little off at first. We all—I thought he would get over it soon, stop acting so weird.” They feel warmth prickling behind their eyes at the admission, hate themselves so much right now.

 

“I thought…I thought by being near him, everything would get better.” Their voice is cracking over the lump in their throat, and they swallow painfully. “It’s just gotten worse.” 

 

They wipe stubbornly at the tears spilling down their face with the sleeve of their dress. 

Something about speaking the words into existence, rather than tiptoeing around the issue of Shion with veiled glances and stinted phone calls to Karan, had prompted this. Inukashi feels exposed and just short of mortified, keeps rubbing at their face miserably. 

 

Nezumi approaches Inukashi cautiously, as though they are a frightened animal, and wraps his arms around them. 

 

“The fuck?” Inukashi sniffles, but allows themselves to lean in. They hate this asshole, but they’re also so _tired_. If he wants to pretend he’s a normal human being capable of comforting others, so be it.

 

* * *

Sometime during their hours-long conversation, Nezumi and Inukashi had agreed to switch off on looking over Shion.

 

Inukashi is sleeping in Karan’s room with Shionn, and Nezumi sits in a chair Karan had thoughtfully brought up, right next to Shion.

 

Karan is downstairs prepping the bakery for the following morning, which, according to Inukashi, is still as popular as ever. 

 

Nezumi half envies Karan; he thinks he wishes he could keep his hands busy too, as he starts to catalog every visible difference in Shion’s appearance. 

 

Inukashi had also told him of how Shion’s visits had depleted from almost daily to every other week, when family dinners could be fit into his schedule. It had been worse before Inukashi had moved in, they had assured him. Full months would sometimes go by before any of them would see him. 

 

Nezumi idly takes Shion’s hand, studies every detail. 

 

_Shion, what did you do?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry it's so late. I wanted the Inukashi/Nezumi interaction because at the end of the day... they both love Shion and want him to be okay! Inukashi tends to be possessive over Shion in the novels, and you can still see little inklings of that even though they're grown and have matured a lot. At least that's what I tried to portray lol. Feedback is much appreciated, even if I'm not in the habit of responding. Thanks for sticking with this story and my lack of consistent updates.


	5. Chapter 5

Shion awakens to early morning sunrise flooding the small room. The process is gradual; for a long minute he can only register the too-brightness of his surroundings, the heaviness of thick blankets pressing on his body.

 

He slowly draws himself upright, winces at a dull pain in his limbs.

 

He realizes that he’s in his childhood bedroom, can hear the incessant chirping of birds the thin walls of his mother’s house can never quite keep out.

 

And there is Nezumi, seated in a chair next to the bed. He’s looking at Shion quietly, expectantly, which is unnerving. Shion is reminded of recent events, stiffens up and unintentionally starts inching more toward the window.

 

“Shion, are you—“

 

“Fuck,” Shion murmurs absently, lightly touching his left upper arm, which is bandaged tightly and aches like hell. His voice is wrecked, he realizes, and vaguely remembers the screaming.

 

Nezumi’s eyes widen a bit at that and then he’s standing, leaning over Shion, who is alarmed at the sudden, gentle grip on his arm.

 

“Don’t—!” But Shion’s protests die in his throat at the withering look Nezumi throws his way, the most familiar thing he’s done yet.

 

“If you really want me to wake up Inukashi so they can do this, I will.” There’s something bitter underlying his tone, and Shion can’t say he hates it. 

 

It gives him a measure of confidence, of control, so he bravely meets Nezumi’s gaze. “Fine.” 

 

He wants to wrench his arm away at the sensation of Nezumi gingerly undoing the bindings on his arm. He succeeds in biting down on the impulse, and grabs at the blankets with his right hand instead. 

 

The skin around the tiny injection scar is covered in a sizable bruise, purpling brilliantly. 

 

Nezumi whistles, impressed.

 

“You were moving way too much for Inukashi to do it properly,” He intones, thumb brushing over the discoloration. Shion can’t withhold his shiver. 

 

“And you still bruise easily, huh.” The afterthought is lower, more contemplative.

 

Shion sighs deeply and leans back onto the headboard. 

 

“What happened?”

 

“You…” Nezumi looks at him uncertainly. He still has Shion’s arm in his grasp, belatedly lets his fingers drop from it. 

 

“We should wait until Inukashi wakes up.”

 

Shion looks out the window, distaste coloring his words. “It can’t be later than eight right now, they don’t wake up until at least eleven.”

 

He bolts back up urgently. “Wait, what’s today?”

 

“Inukashi called in for you, said the board would have to do without you for a few days.”

 

“ _Days_?” Shion looks horrified. “What’s today?” 

 

Nezumi regards him coolly. “Tuesday.” 

 

Shion looks stricken, rips away the blankets from his body and stumbles out of bed. He’s suddenly hyperaware of his lack of a shirt, is suddenly very thankful he at least has his pants on.

 

He starts toward the dresser at the opposite end of the room, then halts and looks at it longingly; nothing of his remains in there, hasn’t for years. He abruptly turns back toward Nezumi, who looks stunned by the sudden frenzy of activity.

 

“Shirt?” 

 

Nezumi shakes his head. He sees the sharp lines of Shion’s body in the sunlight, the exaggerated jutting of his clavicle and ribs, and has to stop a surprised intake of breath. 

 

“Your mama took it to wash it last night. Shion, you need to rest and I’ll get something from the bakery for you to eat. I’m sure the illustrious board members of this great nation will be fine without you for a little while longer.”

 

“They won’t.” Shion says matter-of-factly.

 

“I doubt your colleagues are r—“

 

“They _won’t_ because it’s never happened before, not that it’s any of your business now _please_ help me look for a shirt because I need—“

 

“Shion,” Nezumi says calmly. There’s a limit, and every moment he spends here, every little thing he sees and learns about Shion has been leading up to it. 

 

“You scared everyone the other day, and apparently can’t even remember what happened. You’re not going anywhere to run away, not your work or your apartment. So forget it.” 

 

Shion breathes in sharply, feels angry warmth rushing to his ears and cheeks.

 

“I’m going to tell you what you’re going to do, you’re going to sit back on the bed, and then you’re going to have a nice, long talk with everyone about what the hell is going on—“

 

“ _You don’t have the right to talk about running away_!” Shion isn’t quite yelling; his abused vocal chords can’t manage at the moment. 

 

In the wake of Nezumi’s startled silence, he resents the outburst. He hates the way Nezumi just looks at him, unreadable, instead of firing back a clever, scathing insult that would undoubtedly burrow itself under Shion’s skin.

 

Shion manages to steady himself, breathes in and out, evenly like Karan taught him to when he would get upset as a child.

 

“Nevermind, just. This is ridiculous, and I need to go.”

 

Nezumi is about to say something, but the door swings open and Inukashi stands in the doorway, rubbing at their eyes and looking less than thrilled.

 

“You two need to keep it down, Shionn’s still got one more hour before he has to wake up for school.” They whisper harshly. 

 

Sensing the tense dynamic of the room and seeing Shion standing shirtless and looking ready to murder, they turn to Nezumi.

 

“What’d you do?”

 

Nezumi scoffs. “He’s trying to leave. You handle this, I’m getting some coffee.”

 

He pads out of the room, closing the door behind him.

 

Inukashi turns to Shion, walks closer to him. “Are you okay?”

 

Shion looks at them, expression softening.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and grabs Inukashi’s hands, rubs soothing circles into their palm. 

 

“I don’t know what happened, but I’m sorry, and I promise it won’t happen again. Whatever it was, it was him; he threw me off and I…” He trails off, not quite knowing how to end that thought.

 

Inukashi shakes him off, then pulls him into an embrace. 

 

“Shion, you can’t give me that. Not after…” They bury their face in the crook of his neck, breathe him in for a moment. Then they pull away, look him steadily in the eyes.

 

“And you don’t even know what happened! Listen, I don’t know what the rat told you, but you have to stay and rest. We’ll all talk later, but for now please just stay and rest.” 

 

Shion wants to argue, wants to tell Inukashi everything he’s doing is so much bigger than himself, than his small little life. But he knows instinctively that this is the last sentiment that would convince Inukashi to let him leave.

 

Instead, he smiles reassuringly. “Okay. Okay, I will.”

 

Inukashi’s face darkens and their brow furrows ever so slightly. They turn away. “I’ll be back up here with breakfast in a minute. Stay put.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa the first uninterrupted scene in this story! A new dynamic forming between Nezumi and Shion and Inukashi! Hope this update makes up for the last one where I made ya'll wait like three months. Feedback is always super appreciated.


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

 

 

To Shion's displeasure, Inukashi is not the one to bring up his breakfast. Instead, Nezumi nudges the door open with his hip, carrying a wooden tray piled with breakfast items. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts up from downstairs, as does the din of Karan’s morning customers.

 

"Here," Nezumi says as he gently plops it on Shion's blanketed lap. "Courtesy of your mama."

 

There's a bowl of oatmeal, two slices of toast slathered in butter and jam, and glass carafes of chilled water and orange juice. Shion wants to smile at the slices of fresh strawberries and bananas peppered atop the oatmeal; the whole setup is so characteristic of his mother.

 

Shion nods shortly and wastes no time in pouring himself a glass of water. He takes a long sip, relishes in the coolness of it against his abused throat.

 

He regrets having done whatever he had in Karan's home, feels guilty for disrupting hers and Shionn’s lives.

 

He is relieved that when he lived alone, no one was around to witness his life too closely, to pick apart its realities; what little they had seen was from a safe distance. This, he thinks, is not.

 

He's thankful for the bandage on the nape of his neck that has dutifully held up for days, as well as his long hair that covers it anyway. He doesn't even want to envision the uproar that would ensue if it were seen at this point. Inukashi had seen it before and did not question it further, most likely because Shion went to great lengths to keep them from seeing it again. All he needed was for it to become an issue.

 

His current situation, he thinks, is the result of a complete overreaction, made worse by Nezumi's uninvited appearance. He guesses it can’t be helped; it’s natural for his mother and Inukashi to worry over nothing, it’s what they’ve done for years. Nezumi’s presence is what’s heightening everything, and he’s sure he’d happily be back at work by now if it weren’t for him.

 

He realizes with no shortage of irritation that he's still not alone, looks up at Nezumi expectantly with a slight frown on his face. The man is sitting in the chair at his bedside again, leafing through a small, thin book.

 

Shion thinks it’s strange, to see Nezumi in a plain t-shirt and jeans, lounging in Shion's childhood home. It's all too casual, too domestic.

 

He thinks about the time they lived together in West Block, and then the one night they shared this bed. The last night Shion had watched the way the moonlight loved Nezumi's profile, how it shone off his sleeping form. It's an image engraved into his mind.

 

He resists the urge to tie up his hair, suddenly yearns for something to do with his hands.

 

"What are you doing?" Shion asks after a long moment, hoping Nezumi would have taken the hint and leave on his own by now.

 

Nezumi doesn't look up, continues scanning the page he's on at a leisurely pace. "Reading, your majesty. Am I allowed to do that?"

 

Shion tries not to react to the old nickname, the falling into old behavior. Instead, he wants to see the self-satisfied look melt off Nezumi's handsome face.

 

"Not that, why are you still here? I'd like to eat in peace,” He gestures to the tray on his lap.  

 

Nezumi doesn’t respond, and Shion knows the book can’t be that interesting.

 

"Or what? Can't trust me not to choke on my food?” He says blankly, shoves a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth to illustrate a point.

 

Nezumi pointedly looks at the page a moment longer, before sighing and closing the thing altogether.

 

"You have a habit of not eating enough," he says haltingly, stops himself from adding _apparently_ to the end of that sentence. He looks at Shion's face, tries to gauge his reactions.

 

"So Inukashi asked me to sit here and make sure you actually do."

 

Shion bristles at that and feels his hands curl into fists, but is able to catch himself and schools his face into a calm expression, wills his voice to be even and reasonable.

 

Getting upset clearly won't do anything to better his current situation, that much is clear. And he can’t be bothered with being held here any longer. There is an overwhelming feeling of urgency when he thinks about what may be transpiring in his absence.

 

"It's not like an office job requires a lot of energy, Nezumi," Shion says, takes another sip of water. He then takes a substantial bite of his toast and chews thoughtfully as he mulls over his next words. “And if I'm too busy and forget to eat, Inukashi’s there. This is not a big thing. None of this is, actually.”

 

It startles Nezumi, the easy, open expression on Shion's face, his friendly demeanor and the way he's almost babbling. He can’t help but draw parallels and see him at sixteen, all soft eyes and soothing tones.

 

Shion blinks up at him innocently as he takes another bite, his bright red-violet eyes and long, pale eyelashes catching the light perfectly. 

 

It's just that, Nezumi realizes, a weight like lead in his stomach. He's being soothed.

 

He might believe Shion, too, if his bare upper body—all jutting lines—wasn’t staring him in the face. If Nezumi were not directly witnessing Shion's fallout, he would be so inclined.

 

He's scared, and he knows this now as he watches Shion go about eating his breakfast like it's a performance. Nezumi thinks he can see how he’s progressed like this for so long. He has everyone eating out of the palm of his hand, Karan and Inukashi and whoever else is unfortunate enough to care about him. 

 

Nezumi remembers it now, the streak of ugliness that has always run through Shion’s personality. He must have let time gloss it over in his memories, but he sees it clearly, remembers he had experienced it so often himself when they lived together. Shion had always been a natural at manipulation, hadn’t seemed to be quite aware of it then.

 

"Shion, I think," Nezumi's the one who's pissed now, knows he shouldn’t get emotional like this, glares at him coldly in a way they both know he hasn't in years. He stands.

 

"I think you're a fucking liar. And you're going to finish that by the time I get back," _and I don't have the stomach for this like I thought I did_ , he doesn't say.

 

Shion doesn't flinch, but the easy look on his face withers. It's quickly replaced by the hard way he's been looking at Nezumi since he got here. He quietly watches him walk to the door, envisions shoving his way through Nezumi, forgetting him altogether, and coming away from this ordeal solely with a newfound appreciation for keyholes and home security systems.

 

“You sure like to run away,” he calls mockingly after him. It's childish, he knows as soon as it leaves his mouth, but he'll take what he can get at this point. This time, he has the upper hand and he's determined to keep it.

 

Nezumi slams the door behind him, it shakes the wall and Shion can hear his footsteps descending down the stairwell.

 

He pours himself a glass of orange juice and lets out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW they are both children and I can't get them to kiss and make up yet?? Or at least reach an understanding? It's been six chapters and still no dice, let us pray.


	7. Chapter 7

Shion can only stomach a few more spoonfuls of oatmeal after Nezumi storms out—he feels he’s eaten enough at this point anyway. He stares down at the depleted plates of food and absentmindedly swirls his finger in the glass of water, still cool to the touch. He has only taken two sips of the orange juice, its flavor acrid and syrupy in his mouth.

 

He moves the tray from his lap to the floor, lets out a soft groan when his bruised arm presses against the bed too hard. He flops onto his back, letting himself sink into the cushions as the wooden frame of the bed squeaks in protest. He lets his arm fall against his face, covering his eyes. 

 

Shion much prefers his plain, white-walled home. The history in this place makes his stomach hurt. 

 

Torey—hopeful and idealistic in the way people think Shion is—is most likely buried under paperwork and proposals by now, most likely overwhelmed. 

 

Shion sighs heavily, feels like an idiot for leaving his phone at his house. He wishes he could at least call the other man, get a sense of what has happened in the days he’s been here.

 

With Torey’s help, Shion has managed to keep the city constantly progressing. It’s not utopian by any means, and Shion knows such a thing does not exist. There are divides and prejudices many will not let go of, but there is no deprivation in No. 6. Even the sharp despair of hunger is faded in the memories of former West Block residents. Inukashi, who once devoured food like they would never come across it again, has learned to savor every bite, to appreciate the tart sweetness of an apple pie.

 

Shion’s first basic pushes for reform, which had focused on an equal distribution of resources and then free education, proved surprisingly popular in a city once renowned for the self-interest of its citizens.

 

For all his supposed popularity, things have always been a step away from going out of control in the restructural committee, from falling back onto the depraved path of the city’s predecessors. He has been forced to purge the committee of those who would put their own ambitions above all else, and more than once throughout the years. It’s a continuous process he hoped would end after he successfully ousted Yoming, but greed is something always seeping into the edges of everyone’s vision.

 

He admits he has resulted to some rather unsavory methods; he waves off Torey’s increasing suggestions of employing personal security, finds the concept ridiculous.

 

Shion shifts to lay on his side, decides he may as well try to sleep through this day. Maybe he can’t convince Nezumi to leave him be, but he’s sure he can make Inukashi and Karan see reason. 

 

Then he hears soft, hesitant footsteps; not coming from the stairwell, but from down the hall. 

 

“Papa Shion?” 

 

Baby Shionn pokes his small face into the room, sees him in bed and toddles in, face open and sweet. 

 

Shion forces himself to brighten up in response, even if he really wants nothing more than to burrow under the covers and pretend he’s asleep.

 

Shionn is five or six now, has wavy, dark brown hair and a chubby, lightly freckled face.

 

Shion loves him, is grateful that he is healthy and being taken care of by Karan and Inukashi. Still, their relationship mirrors that of a distant uncle and his nephew. Although Shion has recently seen him more regularly since Inukashi moved in, maybe once every other week.

 

“Shionn, don’t you have to get ready for school?” He says gently, looks toward the doorway half-expecting Inukashi to come and herd him away.

 

“I can’t find my other sock,” Shionn says mournfully, looks down at his bare left foot. Shion smiles, is always taken in by Shionn’s cuteness even if he doesn’t quite know how to interact with him.

 

“Papa Shion, don’t you have to get ready for work? Are you feeling sick?” Shionn walks up closer, to Shion’s bedside and Shion feels the back of the boy's small, sticky hand on his forehead.

 

“Mmmm, you feel…” Shionn scrunches his face in concentration for an extended moment. “You feel warm?”

 

Shion gingerly takes the boy’s hand off his face, decides it’s time he gets up. “C’mon Shionn, I’ll help you find your other sock.”

 

* * *

 

When Nezumi trudges into the back kitchen, he finds Inukashi leaning over a counter, carefully slicing the crust off a peanut butter sandwich.

 

Karan is manning the counter, already tending to the morning rush of hungry customers. Nezumi considers offering her help, keeps his mouth shut when he sees how she seems to be fully in her element.

 

Being busy is good, a much-needed distraction. 

 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Inukashi says, dark eyebrows raised. They carefully wrap the sandwich in wax paper, start slicing the red skin off of an apple in smooth, practiced movements.

 

Nezumi can’t help but envision those hands, small and steady, warm on Shion’s skin. He doesn’t dwell on the thought, wills it away as forcefully as he can.

 

“It’s fucked,” Nezumi says, lowly so only Inukashi can hear.

 

Inukashi stares hard at the skinned apple they are now slicing into wedges.

 

“I’m not sure what we do now,” They admit along with a breathy, nervous laugh. “We’ve never…I mean, no one’s ever confronted him like this.”

 

Nezumi looks up at the ceiling, toward the direction of the room Shion’s in. 

 

“Whatever the hell that was, it can’t happen again. I’ve been gone, I know. I also know I don’t have a right. But I don’t want him to keep being like this.”

 

Inukashi stiffens up, places the knife on the cutting board and faces Nezumi. “You…you mean to stay?” 

 

Their face is set familiarly, holds that intensity like when they were both kids butting heads as they tried to survive in West Block. 

 

Nezumi threads his fingers through his hair, meets Inukashi’s gaze, no trace of apology in his face. “And if I do?”

 

They stay like that, tensed and silent.

 

Inukashi is the first to end it, turns their back on Nezumi as they busy themselves placing Shionn’s lunch into a paper bag. Something cold is washing over them, something final. But they also know it in their gut: Shion might never get better if Nezumi were to leave now.

 

They don’t want to think about the future, what Nezumi’s continued presence means for them, for Shion. But they yearn to see Shion’s easy smiles again, his thoughtless kindness. Inukashi realizes they’ve missed it for years. 

 

What would they give to see him like that again?

 

They ignore the warm prickling in their eyes, set Shionn’s lunch on the countertop.

 

“Go get Shionn, yeah? I’ve got to walk him to school now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI I'm the worst! But I live for comments, I swear they help me neglect my other responsibilities/write this stuff faster.

**Author's Note:**

> I know a lot of people see their reunion as fairy tale-esque as possible but, Nezumi's reasons for leaving were way more complex than him being able to come back one to two years later acting like he's over his deep-seated emotional issues (ahem genocide of his people at the hands of No. 6's government and, by extension, its citizens) and ready to settle down all lovey-dovey. Similarly, Shion's been deeply traumatized in several ways and left alone to stew in that, and it's my belief that he wouldn't welcome Nez back as though nothing happened, as if he wasn't abandoned by the one other person he shared those traumatic experiences with. Anyway hope you enjoyed, feedback is appreciated.


End file.
